murder.”
“You are sure?” The stranger did not sound happy. “You promised that no one would know of our deal. It’s imperative that my involvement can never be traced to what is going to happen in Vienna.”
“Trust me, your secret is safe,” replied Tappan.
There was a long silence. “You have finished extracting the substance from the plant?”
“Yes,” said Tappan. “And as I said, it’s the perfect poison for what you have in mind. I’ve had a special leather carrying case made for the vial. The glass is wrapped in a square of chamois and—”
A thunderous barking from the front lawn interrupted his words.
“What is that?” demanded the stranger. Footsteps crossed the parquet and the window swung open. Kate got just a quick glimpse of the face before he withdrew his head back into the room.
“Nothing,” assured Tappan, his voice sounding uncomfortably close. “I took the precaution of having several men patrol the grounds. But just to make sure all is in order, I shall go outside and check.”
“Diavolo.” Marco let out a low hiss as the dog barked again.
“Look.” Kate pointed to the stable pathway, where a man with a gun was struggling to control a huge mastiff.
Grabbing her hand, Marco yanked her to her feet. “This way,” he whispered. “And hurry.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Marco darted through an opening in the privet hedge. Hugging close to the leafy shadow, he turned away from the main house and hurried their steps for the knot of Norfolk pines at the far end of the lawns.
“Cluyne Close is in the opposite direction,” rasped Kate.
“So is an armed guard and a vicious dog,” he replied. “And the others may be anywhere. We can’t risk getting caught, and not just to save our own skins.”
“Where—”
“Trust me.”
She didn’t protest, but picked up her pace, following with sure-footed grace as he veered around a massive stone urn and broke into a run.
Marco ventured a quick glance back at her. No weeping, no sign of a swoon—Kate Woodbridge flew into the face of peril without betraying a blink of fear. His hand tightened, the feel of her slim fingers against his callused palm sending a stab of remorse through him. He shouldn’t have allowed her to come. Once again, his own devil-may-care disregard for danger was coming back to haunt him.
Ghosts. Demons. Would he ever outrun his past?
Legs churning up the last steep rise of the path, he rounded the screen of trees. Pale and serene in the dappling of moonlight, a row of marble columns stood like silent sentinels, guarding the half-hidden door.
“What’s that?” asked Kate as they skidded to a halt in front of the windowless building.
“Our sanctuary,” said Marco a bit breathlessly. “At least, I pray it is.” Thrusting the knife blade into the iron keyhole, he set to jiggling the tumblers. “Any sign of pursuit?”
Hiking up her skirts even higher, Kate wrapped her legs around one of the fluted columns and shimmied up its length. “They are checking the side terrace,” she called softly. “Mastiffs aren’t known for their nose. With any luck, they won’t track us here.”
“Better safe than sorry.” Marco dug deeper and heard the last catch open with a satisfying click. “Come inside—and be quick about it.”
She swung out and caught hold of the iron lantern ring hanging from the portico.
“Were you a circus acrobat in your past life?” he asked, watching her drop lightly down to the ground beside him.
“A ship’s monkey,” she replied. “I’ve been climbing masts and rigging since I was a small child.”
“Well, no need for further gymnastics. Right now we are going to hole up in here.” Marco pulled the door shut behind him and twisted the latch to reset the lock. “And stay quiet as church mice until we are sure they are gone. Make yourself comfortable. We may be a while.”
Kate’s eyes widened as they adjusted to dim light. “My God.”
“Only if you worship Eros,” replied Marco.
“Or Dionysus.” She slowly circled a larger-than-life statue of an aroused satyr guzzling from a wineskin. “This is…”
“Sinful? Shocking?” he suggested.
“A number of adjectives come to mind,” she said cryptically. “You have been here before?”
“Tappan gave me a tour when we came to fetch the botany books for you and Lady Fenimore. His grandfather bought the collection from a Turkish pasha and built this place as a personal pleasure retreat. Apparently the old fellow was considered the paragon of propriety by the ton, but occasionally indulged in his own private fantasies.”
“So, hiding scandalous secrets seems to run in the family.” Pausing